Moving ...

I am moving my blog for security reasons. If you have been following/reading and I don't know you, and you want to continue to read, please shoot me an email at drearymouse@gmail.com and give me some actual identifiable info so that I can verify you are someone safe. (IE link to your FB account, or something.)

Everything Is Awesome!

The silly song "Everything is Awesome," from The Lego Movie, popped into my head this morning as I was ruminating on my emotional state.

Okay, so everything is not awesome. But it is, I think, a fair deal better than it was the last time I posted. Not a lot has changed circumstantially, but I think the clouds are lifting. I hope they are. Anyway, I had the surprising thought that I could at least try to make everything awesome.

I don't know for sure, but I think that a medication I have been on may have been contributing to my depression and anxiety. It's not something I'm prepared to go into full detail about here, but suffice it to say, I've stopped taking the medication as of 3 days ago, and I'm crossing my fingers in hopes that this will make a big difference in my overall mood.

In the mean time, I'm trying to keep myself occupied with work and things I simply enjoy. When I start to feel down, I am reminding myself that it's not as bad as it has been. I am currently able to actually do things and stay focused for longer periods of time.

I am reading again, which is next to impossible when I'm depressed. I'm currently reading, Outlander, mostly because I became enthralled by the Stars adaptation when it first came out, and I can't watch it at the moment due to having limited internet and limited TV. (Welcome to rural KY.) I'm also working on fun projects, such as crocheting some mittens for a swap (I am a Swap-Bot addict.)

And I have a big wholesale order to work on for The Fernie Brae, an art gallery and gift shop in Portland, Oregon. This will be my second large order for the owner of this shop. I'm really pleased to be working with her, knowing my critters were highly admired there by customers. I'm currently working on some tiny Valentine otters for that. If you care to see what I make, click: my shop.

Anyway, I still don't have all the answers, or know exactly where my life is heading, but who does? I'm trying to be hopeful, though. And trying to eat depression-fighting foods and drink water and consume less caffeine. Look out, world ...

Maybe It's Time To Move

A couple of months ago, I tripped over some rotten log of grief and I have been essentially lying on the cold, damp ground ever since. It's different down here. If you lie flat on your face, you can't see anything, and sometimes that's a comfort. Not looking around means not seeing anything scary. And there are a lot of scary things that I don't want to see right now.

You might not think it, but there's plenty to do down here. With your face planted flat in the ground, a person can  get to thinking about how it feels to not feel and what it looks like to not see. What things sound like from lower down and what the ground smells like. Thoughts that are, for the most part, unimportant, but that seem earth shattering at the time because you have spent so much time and energy on them. And then you can get thinking about how those thoughts aren't important, and how horrible it is that no on but you knows this or cares. 

Sometimes this leads nowhere. Other times, it prompts me to roll over on my side to catch a glimpse of brown leaves and dead grass out of the corner of one eye, and straight ahead maybe I'll see tree solid tree trunks, tramping feet, spinning car tires. Nothing incredible, but still signs of life beyond my pallet of dead leaves, proving that, maybe eventually, I could get up and walk again. You know, if I felt like it.

And if I'm particularly brave, some days this might prompt me to roll over on my back and look up at the sky. Looking at the sky is frightening when you're lying on your back barely able to move. You can see so much light, movement, and life, and it's all up and out there shining and flying and breathing without you, and it never goes away, even when you roll over and plant your face in the leaves again. It's still there, happening without you. And that can make you question whether you really need to be at all.

Probably the worst part about depression for me is that, when it's happening, I generally have no idea why I'm suffering. Often, what little energy I have to think is wasted trying to find a reason for what I'm feeling. This leads to my head reeling with confusing and conflicting thoughts, and gets me nowhere. But most of this time I haven't wanted to to get anywhere. Beyond the rolling over, I haven't had any motivation to move. Life goals, work, hobbies, even silly distractions don't really seem important when my heart is full of grief and empty of life. Maybe that's why I choose to go down those pointless thought paths so often.

However, lately I have noticed that I've been lying on the ground for a long time. And as easy as it is, as comfortable as it is, to stay where I am, it's also exhausting. All the thoughts and not-thoughts, the bottling it up and uncapping it again, afraid one minute and comforted the next--I'm tired.

 I can't say that I have reached a logical conclusion to this bout of depression, or that I've thoroughly healed from whatever injuries were inflicted when I tripped and fell. I've been through a lot; more than I knew when I came home, and probably still more than I know now. I may yet have a long way to go yet before I feel whole again. But there is something to be said for not staying in one place too long. So, maybe it's time to move. Time to start walking again. You know, as Churchill supposedly said, "If you're going through hell, keep going." Even if hell is familiar, it's still hell, right? Or, if you prefer, since Ingrid Michaelson is streaming in my ears right now, "I think I'm ready to fight."

The good news is, as scary as it is to sit up, and then stand up, and then put one foot in front of the other, only to follow a poorly drawn map that I drew myself, a long time ago when I still felt like daydreaming, leading to some distant place that I made up and that I can only hope truly exists, I do have one thing that I am sure of. One thing that never changes, even when my head and heart are so jumbled that I don't even recognize myself.

That one good, steady, beautifully true thing is this: I have people who love me. You are the ones I couldn't do without. You are the ones who make me want to move. Without you, I would probably lie on the ground forever.   

I Have A Jacket

A couple of days ago, I had a bout of anxiety. This is not unusual for me, but it's less usual lately, now that I'm back in America. I'm also medication-free now, which sometimes means dealing with more heightened emotions than I've been used to for a few years.

I try to go walking when I feel anxious. Actually, I try to walk most days to prevent anxiety, but it doesn't always happen. I went for a really long walk the other day, and I thought about a lot of things. I tried to "self-soothe" by reminding myself that I don't have to have it all figured out, and that what I have for today is enough for today. I try to talk to myself like I would a friend,or a child, because I know I would do my best to comfort an anxious friend or child in as healthy a way as I could.

Feelings of displacement come when I least expect them. It's hard to explain what this feels like. I guess it's a little like that feeling of coming out of the store and forgetting where you parked. You know your vehicle is somewhere in the parking lot, but you have no idea where because you weren't really thinking about that when you arrived; you were thinking about the groceries. Take that tiny, niggling sense of panic and multiply it times a thousand and you have displacement. I don't feel it all the time. I wouldn't even say that it happens often. But when I do feel it, it can be crippling.

I could be happily crocheting or reading or writing, and suddenly I'll feel a tightening in my chest or a heaviness in my stomach, and I'll be overcome with a sense of fear or panic. I can't explain it or justify it. I simply feel as though I don't know who I am, where my life is headed, or where I belong.

Where do I belong? America, yes, I know that much for sure. That sense of peace that comes from  being among my own people, and in my own culture, is very solid. The first few months I was here, I was happy and wide-eyed and simply joyful. And most of the time I would say I am still happy, and if not wide-eyed and joyful, at least engaged and grateful.

However, life is more complicated than that. At 33, I find myself living with my parents again, saving up for my first car (no, I have never owned a car!), and wondering where my life is headed.I built a life, such as it was, for myself over the last seven years that no longer exists.And I've returned to a life that is only an echo of what I left behind. None of my family live in the state I was born and raised in anymore, and my parents moved to an entirely different part of the country five years ago. I am not the carefree girl who left America for England, nor am I any longer the jaded and sad woman whom England spat back out. Who am I?

I'm from Maine. I'm a Yankee in the truest sense of the word. I like snowy Christmases and wood-burning stoves and waking up to see a moose in the pasture. Kentucky is not a place I ever thought I would live.Yet here I am in the heartland, or the "top of the south," trying desperately to become accustomed to another place with weird weather and weirder accents. I am trying to like where I am, even when I don't, though often I do. It's complicated.

There are things I like about this place a lot. Things that surprise me, like wildflowers I've never heard of and hazy October evenings, warm enough to sit outside in short sleeves. There are also things I don't care much for, like hot, hot summers that make me feel faint when I step outside the door, cicadas, poisonous snakes, and foods like grits and boiled peanuts. Living here is like living in any new place; there is much to learn and much to get used to.

I don't know how long I'll be here. I could be here for years, or I could leave in a few months. I often find myself wishing for answers and clear direction, even when I'm not particularly anxious. I'm trying, however. Trying to be content. Trying to just be, and to realize that I have what I need to survive right now. I've survived so much already, so much worse, and I'm stronger than I sometimes believe.

As I was walking and fighting this anxiety, I suddenly thought about the jacket I was wearing. I don't know why. I just did. I've had it in my closet for months, since I flew into Boston in May and went up to Maine with my dad, because he was working on the old house at the time. It was still a little chilly up there. I haven't worn it at all down here until a few days ago when the temperature finally dropped a bit to more fall-appropriate levels.

This jacket is a sweet, floral, lightweight trench-coat that my friend Kristen gave me in England when I didn't have a coat that fit or the money to buy one. I really like it. It's one of the very few warmer clothing items I brought back with me. Wearing it reminds me of her, and how grateful I am that we became friends. Our friendship is one of the bright spots during my time over there.

As I was thinking about that, I tried to self-soothe again, addressing myself as I would a little child who needed calming. "Today you have a jacket, and that is enough. It's getting colder, and you need it, and you have it. That's enough for today."

And it was. It was nowhere near enough for the next day, or the rest of the week. But it was enough for that day. One foot in front of the other, with a jacket to wear in the cold. I can do this. I've done it before and I'll do it again. Life is messy and complicated. There are no absolute "right answers." What is true today may not be true tomorrow. What is a comfort today may be disillusioning by the end of the week. Who I am now, I will not always be. But all of this is okay. It's life. Life is good and precious and wonderful.I know this.

And that's enough for today.

Take Your World War II

"He's not a hero because he survived being a POW."

Yes, I overheard someone say that. "He is not a hero because ..." Because why? Says who? And why are you so afraid of the word hero?

A hero is not going to campaign for the "God-shaped-hole" in your heart. He is not going to love your children more than you know how. He is not going to steal your wife or even bruise your ego. He is not a hero because you do or don't say so, or do or don't like him. He is a hero because he has done something for someone else, probably someone who has nothing to do with you. And survival against all odds is heroic, because it gives hope to others.

In Don Knotts style, let's get technical. "Take your World War II. There were many heroes in World War II. What were your heroes? Who were your heroes?" (The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. Great movie, by the way.) But seriously. What is a hero, anyway?


According to dictionary.com, the first meaning of the word is:

1. A man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.

But it's the second meaning, I think, that's more poignant: 

 

2. A person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal: He was a local hero when he saved the drowning child.

"In the opinion of others." This second meaning allows anyone to be a hero, regardless of what those deeds might be, and whether or not anyone else recognizes him as a hero. This definition allows your mother to be your hero, because you say so. It allows the homeless man outside Wal-Mart to be a hero because that's your opinion. It allows an ordinary human being to be a hero because he has touched you, or someone you know, in a way that no one else has, and maybe no one else would understand. 

A hero is not a hero because the world notices what he did. He's a hero because I think so, you think so, or your neighbor thinks so. Stop being afraid of people who touch lives. Stop feeling like you have to correct how other people feel.

My suspicion, deep down, is that if you fear the word hero, you are afraid not only because no one has ever been your hero, but you have never allowed yourself to be a hero for someone else. It does not take "great deeds" (although those who do great deeds are often heroes for it!); all it takes is a little compassion, empathy, or notice. All it takes is to keep pushing when you've run out of strength. All it takes is to live another day when you want desperately to die.

A guy named Ronald Regan, some of you still know the one, said, "Those who say that we're in a time when there are no heroes, they just don't know where to look."

Start looking, Stop begrudging. Heroes are everywhere, and they make the world--your world--a better place.

Aquainted With The Night

I have a fun blog almost completely ready to publish, but tonight I need to write about something else. I have to write about something that I don't like talking about, thinking about, feeling, or even acknowledging. But I know that writing about it will help me, and I hope that by me being open about it here, my personal struggle  might help someone else too.

Right now, I'm in about my third month of going off anti-depressants. I have been on this drug for several years, for many reasons that I won't get into here. The drug itself isn't really important, unless you, as a reader, would like more information for personal support or help as you go off it too. (Comment or email me.) What matters is that stopping medication like this is hard, even when you do it responsibly and slowly.

And unless you have experienced it yourself, you probably won't understand. But please try, because you probably know several people who have either gone through this, or will at one time or another, even if they have never told you about it.

People take anti-depressants for many reasons. Depression can be chronic, and it can be temporary. It can be mild and it can be severe, or somewhere in between. It affects people differently. It can have environmental causes and genetic causes. It also often comes hand in hand with ugly friends, like anxiety, addictions, PTSD, eating disorders, paranoia, bi-polar, CFS, and more. People with chronic physical illnesses also often struggle with depression.

Some people with depression find that medication is helpful enough to them that they are happy to stay on it long term, or even for life. And there's nothing wrong with this, if it's right for you. However, others, like me, may in time decide that it's not a permanent necessity. Sometimes a change in circumstances, relationships, diet, lifestyle, or even location can make medication no longer a must. For some, the side effects might be worse than the benefits. Others simply don't like the feeling of taking any kind of mind-altering drug.

Personally, I have been wanting to stop taking my anti-depressants for about two years, but the timing was never really right before. Doctors warn you not to stop medication like this during the fall or winter months, because, even if you don't suffer from SAD (season affective disorder), like I do from time to time, on top of depression, most people still find withdrawal harder when there's less sunlight.

You could say that when I started cutting back on my medication, it kind of happened by accident. I would forget to take pills, and eventually simply started taking one instead of two every day, or every other day, anyway. Then I made the decision to leave the UK and move home. As soon as I made that decision, one that had been a long time coming, I knew it was the right time to officially go off my meds. After all, I wouldn't be able to get them for free anymore anyway!

The first few months were easy. I cut back by half a dose and flew through weeks without really feeling any withdrawal symptoms aside from dizziness and a little trouble concentrating. But after I had cut down to around 10 mg (1/4 dose) every two days, I was starting to feel a few more of the 'crazies.'

The hardest part about withdrawal for me has been determining the difference between symptoms and reality. Since I've been back in the US, I have felt more myself than I have in years. I've been happy almost all the time, and I know that all of this is reality, sweet reality. I am a truer me than I have ever been.

However, withdrawal symptoms sometimes mean I feel anxiety, panic, and paranoia, for no apparent reason. Mostly it's the anxiety that gets to me. I am currently generally a very relaxed and calm person who is happy to be home and happy to be alive. But the anxiety comes right on schedule every few days when I'm due for a tiny dosage. I hate the feeling because I know it means my mind is still being controlled by the meds, even though it's such a small amount. I want complete control of my mind back.

Tonight I feel anxious about things that I know are true, but my altered mind wants to tell me are not. I also feel weepy, like something is wrong, even though I know that nothing really is. In fact, nothing in my life has been more right for going on eight years. But believing all of this is hard right now, right this second. I will go to sleep in an hour or so and I'll wake up okay again and go about my business fairly happily. But tonight--tonight I feel crappy. And I don't like feeling crappy. I want my happy back right now.

There are some things I can do to ease my symptoms, but sometimes when I'm anxious, I don't think to do them, or don't feel like doing them. Occupying my mind by reading, or writing like I am now, is often a good choice. Exercise helps too, especially if I can get outside to do it. Deep breathing and meditation are also extremely helpful.And connecting with other people. I'm grateful to be in a place now where I feel I can connect with so many people, and I am nearer to a lot of people who care about me. I've not had that support network in a long time.

I know that this blog isn't going to solve my problems, and it's not going to solve anyone else's. But I feel better for having said what I've said, and I hope that something, anything, in here helps someone else too.

I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a stronger person now than I have ever been, and I know deep down that I can handle life without these pills. I will not let this kick me. I will not let anything stop me from being my best self, and reaching for all the good I can find. I am better than my worst fears and my darkest hours.

Oh, and poetry always helps too--


"Acquanited With The Night"
by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.


I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,


But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Girls Become Lovers

Something is weighing on me today; girls and their precious little hearts. Baby girls, toddlers, big girls, teenagers, young women, middle aged women, old women. We're all girls, and we all have hearts that start small, and grow and grow. But what do we grow on? And how does what we grow on impact the way we love and allow ourselves to be loved? 

For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, girls have been taught by society that in order to be happy, we need to snare a man. And by snare, I mean that we're expected put our best foot forward in hopes of getting his attention and keeping it: Put on your best dress, smile, say nice things, but never express too much opinion, and certainly never be overly confident or independent. Don't be yourself. Be what he wants you to be. And do what he expects. 

Don't misunderstand me. Some of these lies come to us from unexpected places. Many girls are raised by wonderful parents, but still have a misconstrued concept of what it means to love and be loved. Equally, some women who were raised in an unhealthy environment can have the most healthy view of love. Both nature and nurture have an influence on our hearts, and the way we understand and experience love can change drastically throughout our lives.

Here's what's bothering me. Girls need to know that they are enough, and yet most of us often don't know that. We need to be taught, told, and shown regularly, by anyone and everyone who has any kind of a healthy presence in our lives, that true love means someone respects you. A man (or woman!) who is respects you will be attracted to you, like you, care about you, and want to be in your life no matter what you say, how you dress, who you associate with, what your job is, where you live, what color your skin is, what color your hair is, how much or how little money you make, if you have kids or you don't, if you want kids or you don't.

If he or she makes you feel like you deserve love, then that's when you know you have found someone special. You should never be made to feel like you don't deserve love. If you feel that way, you are with someone who wants you to feel that way because it gives them the power to keep you exactly where they want you. And the longer they keep you, the more they can influence you and break down the last vestiges of your once sound concept of love.

Please, mothers and fathers, please show your girls what love is really like, every single day. You are their first picture of love, and often their most formative. You show them what it means to be human.

Love is not simply "you are beautiful," but rather, "hello, how was your day?" Love can be, "I made you a cake," "I'll do the chores," or, "your soul matters." Love answers, mirrors, and grows. It does not rust, erode, and dissolve. A heart full of love is strong and powerful, and if you have such a heart, please share it with everyone you know, especially girls, old and young, because we need a new picture of love. We need a new standard.


In the words of John Mayer--

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too


Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A womans good, good heart


On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world